


Memories: Beautiful and Painful Things

by stickdonkeys



Series: Memories and Dreams Series [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M, Memories, spoilers in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickdonkeys/pseuds/stickdonkeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After giving Frodo the things he acquired during his quest to reclaim the lonely mountain from Smaug, Bilbo thinks about the things that happened during the quest. Specifically moments that occurred between Thorin and himself. Even though the memories are bittersweet, he cannot bring himself to stop remembering them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were many things that had happened in Bilbo's long life. Many things that he would have changed if he could have, but there was one decision that he could never regret: his decision to follow the dwarves on their quest to reclaim their homeland. He had never told anyone everything that had happened during the quest, and he never intended to. Some things were private. And others . . . they were painful to remember.

If you had asked him at the time why he had done it, he supposed that he would have told you it was due to something Tookish being awoken in him by the music of the dwarves. But in reality, he didn't really know. After all, even though he was a Took, he was also a Baggins and he was too old to be experiencing the wild urges that he had indulged in in his tweens. Even though he now knew the true reason he had gone, it is unlikely that he would have revealed it to anyone.

It was something that he tried to avoid thinking about when he could. The memory was still as raw as if it had happened yesterday rather than more than sixty years ago. He supposed the reason he was thinking about it now was because of Frodo. His nephew had left mere moments before after Bilbo had given him everything that he had been acquired on his own quest. Including his mithril coat. It was that, more so than anything else that had caused the memories to flood to the surface. Just touching the delicate silver rings and hearing them tinkle as he passed it to Frodo awoke the memory of when they had been passed to him by another.

Helping Frodo into the mail had reminded him of another helping him in the same way, so long ago. He knew that Frodo now needed those things more than he did, but it was difficult for him to part with them. Doing so felt like giving up the last hold he had on one who had been so precious to him. He still remembered the first time that he had realized that he cared for the dwarf in a way that was more than platonic.

He remembered that the realization had not come with soft words whispered tenderly in the dark, but rather a harsh condemnation of Bilbo's worth on their quest. The words coming mere moments after Thorin had saved him from falling to his death and cutting off the hobbit's thanks. It was the way that the words stung—words that Bilbo himself had said about him coming on the quest—that made him realize that he cared more about the dwarven king than he should.

It was the realization that his feelings would never be returned more than his homesickness that made him decide to turn back that night. He couldn't bear to be around Thorin day after day knowing what he now knew and seeing the disdain directed at him from those blue eyes. He had seen Thorin stir when he was challenged on his way out of the cave, and had seen him do nothing to stop him from leaving.

If the ground had not have opened beneath his feet at that very moment, he would have fled into the storm. He couldn't bear to be there anymore. Even the threat of him leaving and condemning them to the bad luck brought on by the number thirteen hadn't been enough to get Thorin to stop him from leaving. He never thought that he would say that he was  _glad_ that orcs had captured them, but if they hadn't, he would never have finished the quest.

Thorin's words after they escaped the caves before Bilbo had taken off the ring made him wish that he had not been trapped by the orcs. He couldn't believe that he had survived his capture, fall and encounter with the creature Gollum only to have his heart ripped from his chest once more. This time, however, there was no way for him to return home. His only option was to reveal himself and act like Thorin's words had not cut as deeply as they had.

He was pleased to see the surprise in Thorin's eyes as he stared at the commanding dwarf from across the clearing. Bilbo met his gaze, daring him to say anything more about the ineptitude of hobbits. Instead of rising to the challenge, Thorin turned his head toward the sound of a wolf howl. Even Bilbo's hurt at Thorin's words faded as he realized that they were once again being forced to run for their live.

Bilbo could still remember the feeling of dread that rose in him as he heard the heavy footfalls of the Warg closing in on him. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the feel of its hot breath and blood on his hand as Sting sank into its skull. He could still remember his guilt and disgust as he tried to pull his sword out of the bones of his first kill.

More than anything else, more than the heat of the flames or the fear of falling to his death, more than any of that he remembered the feelings of pride and fear he felt at he watched Thorin give the dwarves—and Bilbo—one final proud look before he charged the white orc. He remembered watching in fear and dread as Thorin was knocked to the ground. He knew that it was the end for the dwarf king. He also knew that there was nothing he could do to stop it. But more than that, he knew that he could not simply stand by and watch it happen.

With that in mind, Bilbo had charged the orc. He knew even as he did that it would be the end of him, but he hoped that his death  _might_  serve to convince Thorin that he was not worthless. Even if it didn't, he would die happy knowing that he had at least tired to save Thorin. However, he did not go out in a blaze of glory. Instead they were saved by the eagles. He was worried as they flew that Thorin did not stir, but once they were landed and he sat up Bilbo wasn't sure he was glad.

Thorin's eyes had burned as he looked at the hobbit. Bilbo knew then that he had made a mistake. Thorin resented him for saving him. Why would he not? Bilbo was worthless and now Thorin owed him his life. It made perfect sense that he would resent it. But Bilbo had been wrong. Thorin did not resent him, he was grateful. As the dwarf pulled Bilbo into a hug, the hobbit was suddenly forced to use all his self control not to weep from joy. His heart lifted as he realized that now the person he had come to love and admire had at least come to realized that he was not a waste of flesh. Even if nothing more ever came from it, it was enough.

If any of the others had bothered to ask him  _why_ he had charged into a situation that had little chance of success and a near certainty of death he would have told them that he didn't know. But it would have been a lie. It was a lie that he was never forced to tell. None of them ever asked because none of them cared about his motives; they were just glad that he had done what they could not. Thorin may have cared, but it was a question that he never asked either. Though after it happened Bilbo caught the dwarf looking at him more often than before and there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Then, when they were in Beorn's home and Bilbo had found himself lifted off the ground by the giant skin-changer, he remembered the panic that had flared in Thorin's eyes and the way the wizard had placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from interfering. At the time, it had reminded Bilbo of another time he had been lifted off the ground. During the incident with the trolls he had not been able to determine what the flash of emotion that passed through Thorin's eyes had been, but it was the same emotion that was present then: fear for Bilbo's well being. It was then that things truly began to change.


	2. Chapter 2

Yes, the encounter with the wargs and orcs changed many things. The next few days had been especially difficult for Bilbo, because even thought Gandalf had brought Thorin back to them had hadn't actually  _healed_  him. And even though Thorin had been in visable pain as they traveled, he refused to let them stop even for his own well being. Bilbo remembered how when he though no one was looking, he would allow a grimace of pain to cross his face, but Bilbo saw. He saw but he was unable to do anything for him. They were in strange country and he did not know the herbs. So as Thorin suffered, Bilbo too had suffered, though the pain was one of a different kind.

Despite his pain, Throin's new-found kindness for the hobbit did not fade. One of Bilbo's clearest memories from the trip through Mirkwood came the first night. While it was true that he had other memories, in this one he actually remembered the words Thorin had spoken to him.

That night they had all sat together huddled in the darkness because even the skilled hands of the dwarves—which could light a fire in a deluge—could find no wood that would burn at the edges of the path and none dared leave it to try. Bilbo was staring through the inky blackness trying to see the page of the journal that Gandalf had given him so he could make an account of the day. He had only finished the first word and was attempting to properly space the second when Thorin's hand came to rest on his own.

Bilbo had looked up, unable to make out the features of the dwarf, but not needing to. He knew which dwarf it was.

"Come, burglar," Thorin had said, his voice gentle. "Hobbit eyes are not made for seeing in darkness. Allow me to complete tonight's log." He had taken the book from Bilbo's hands and sat beside him to fill it out, his warmth and smell permeating the space.

Bilbo swallowed hard as he reached into the trunk at the foot of his bed in Rivendell. At the bottom of the trunk, wrapped in oilskin was a log book. Opening it, he sat on the bed and looked at the first page. All of them were the same, but the first page was the one that Thorin had first written on all those years ago. At the top of the page, in Bilbo's hadwriting was the word "day" and then his writing had been replaced by the bold and steady hand of Thorin. Bilbo felt tears fill his eyes once more as he ran his hand lightly over the fading words as if by touching them he could once again touch the one who had written them.

But he knew that was imposable. Like the ink on the page, his memories were fading too. What had once been clear and vibrant as the world around him was beginning to be forgotten. At one time, he could have recounted every day of the journey to the Lonely Mountain from rote, now all he recalled were fragments. But he supposed that could have been because he had tried so hard to remember and forget at the same time. The result had been the fragmentation of his memories. Now all he had left were the ones that had been of great emotional import.

Like the memory of the look in Thorin's eyes as Bilbo had begun to climb the tree in Mirkwood. He had been torn between knowing that Bilbo  _had_ to climb for the morale of the company and the wish that Bilbo would stay firmly on the ground. At least that was what Thorin had later told him when he asked why Thorin had looked at him the way he had.

Or the memory of the first time he awoke in the arms of the dwarven king. Bilbo smiled as he remembered what had taken place that lead up to that. Thorin had been sleeping near the hobbit ever since they entered Mirkwood, but that night there were things moving in the woods. Bilbo had started at the sound of something in the underbrush only to be calmed by the steady hand of Thorin on his arm. Bilbo had calmed, knowing that not only was Thorin there, but so where twelve other dwarves and his own little sword. With that thought, he had allowed sleep to take him. Sometime during the night, he must have moved, or Thorin had Bilbo wasn't sure. But when he woke the next morning, Thorin's arm had been around his waist and his hand had been resting over Bilbo's heart.

Turning his head slightly he had glanced at the dwarf, expecting that he would be asleep and unconsciously holding onto Bilbo, but was surprised to see blue eyes staring into his own. Neither of them had said a word, but they hadn't needed to. Surprisingly, no one else had said anything either: though Bilbo knew that they had to have seen. After that first night, they slept together both seeking the feel of another warm body against theirs in the dark of Mirkwood.

And then had come those cursed spiders. Bilbo still remembered the ice that had flooded through his veins at seeing all of the company wrapped in cocoons of spidersilk. Worse yet had been unwrapping them and seeing their sluggish movements. Despite all the trouble that old ring of his had caused, he was glad then that he had had it. He would never have been able to defeat the spiders without it. Though he did regret finding it for the trouble it was now causing Frodo. He laughed sadly. He hadn't known that his own quest would cause a second quest to be necessary. He only hoped that Frodo's would not cause Frodo the kind of heartbreak that his own had caused him.

But even so, if he hadn't had the ring, the quest would have gone very different in many places. Including the incident with the elves of Mirkwood. Though he now understood their actions a little better, watching them take the already weary and wounded Dwarves and bind them before taking them prisoner had awoken anger in him. Seeing Glóin and the Prince of Mirkwood in the same space during the council of Elrond had rekindled the flame. It had been everything he could do to not demand an explanation from the Prince for his father's actions all those years ago. Only respect for Lord Elrond had stayed his tongue.

Seeing Glóin was also painful. It was hard for Bilbo to see the dwarf that had been so young and brash during the quest aged so dramatically: he almost hadn't recognized him. It reminded him of his own rapid fall into old age. He wondered if Thorin could see him today if he would even recognize Bilbo as the hobbit that had followed them on their quest to reclaim their home. Bilbo sighed as he looked in the polished brass mirror in his room. He wondered if even he recognized that hobbit anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter! I would love to hear what you thought of it!


	3. Chapter 3

All these thoughts about recognition reminded Bilbo of the look on Thorin's face when he had opened the door of the cell in the dungeons of the Elf King. At first he had looked at the hobbit with open hostility his face impassive and his eyes hard. Even though Bilbo knew that the glance had been intended for his elven jailers he flinched away from it. But as Thorin had taken Bilbo in, his eyes had softened and he had pulled the hobbit into a hug.

Without his armor Throin had felt slightly smaller though his strength had not been lessened by his imprisonment and Bilbo was nearly crushed in his embrace. But even dirty and armor-less Thorin still had a majesty and presence that Bilbo could never hope to duplicate. Together the two of them had opened the cells of the others and led them to the guardroom where the Elves had drunk themselves into a stupor and where—coincidentally—the gear of the dwarves was being kept.

The expressions of the dwarves as Bilbo had told them to get in the barrels would have made him laugh if it weren't for the fact that time was of the essence. Their protests had only been silenced when Thorin had climbed into a barrel himself and leveled a glance at them. Bilbo had fought the urge to stroke the dwarf King's face. Instead he had nodded his thanks and closed the lid of Thorin's barrel hoping that he would see him again.

The others had soon followed suit and allowed Bilbo to close them up. Bilbo still remembered his relief as he finished closing up the last barrel just as he heard the sound of footsteps on the stair. Again this was a place where things would have gone differently was it not for The Ring. As it was, he simply slipped it on and waited with bated breath for the elves to roll the barrels containing the dwarves into the hole. His heart almost stopped in his chest when they had paused as they moved the barrel that contained Thorin. He was worried that they would open it. They would not get a second chance.

But they didn't. Instead they shrugged and rolled the barrel into the hole, figuring—Bilbo assumed since he never bothered to ask nor did he speak Elvish at the time—that the barrels contained a bad brew that the King was sending back. He couldn't think of any other reason that they would roll barrels that felt full into the river to return to Lake Town.

In the end, he didn't suppose that their reasoning mattered so much as the fact that it had worked out for the best in this case—for the dwarves and Bilbo anyway. Now he wondered what had happened to the Elves that he had gotten drunk that night. With as much time as had passed, he now hoped that they hadn't gotten into too much trouble. He wondered now if he should have left a note explaining that it had not been their faults. But like with everything else about the journey, he could not change what had happened.

He smiled fondly as he remembered what had happened next. The Lakemen had been less happy with the full barrels than the Elves had been. But even so they had pulled them onto the platforms. Even though as a hobbit—which as a rule did not swim—Bilbo was less than happy with the means of their escape and the fact that Lake Town was literally on the surface of the lake, he had never been happier to see a place in his entire life.

Despite the fact that he was unsure if the Lakemen would help, he would at least get to see that he had not drowned his companions. Even though he had thought it many times on the journey, he had never been happier than when Thorin's barrel was opened and he tumbled out before standing and attempting to look regal despite the fact that he was dirty, wet and disheveled. Bilbo had tried to convince himself that the plan was foolproof, but in reality he had feared that it would not be dwarves, but rather corpses that were released from the barrels.

He faintly remembered feeling extremely small and insignificant as their arrival triggered a rush of preparations, but more than that he remembered that Thorin had stayed by his side and refused to let any others besides the dwarves near him. He remembered Thorin's arm coming down across his shoulders when a Lakeman had commented on his size and wondered why he would be traveling with Dwarves. At the look Thorin had given him, the man had said no more.

But what was better was what had happened later that evening. Bilbo had always told anyone who asked that no one had remembered his birthday that year, but it wasn't true. A sad smile crossed his face as he remembered the events of that evening. It one of his clearest memories of what had happened on the journey and his last happy one.

After the banquet, Bilbo had been turning to go to his room when Thorin's strong hand had stopped him.

"May we talk?" Thorin had asked. Without a word Bilbo had followed him to the room Thorin had been given. He knew that if Thorin had wanted he could have ordered Bilbo to follow him, and Bilbo would have done it. The way that Thorin had asked had touched something in Bilbo and had made him wonder what the dwarf had planned.

Once they had entered the room Thorin had shut the door and pressed Bilbo against it, effectively trapping him between warm dwarf and cold wood. Bilbo remembered his shock at the action but it had paled in comparison to what happened next. His questions as to what Thorin was doing were silenced by the dwarven King's lips coming down on his own.

As he closed his eyes, Bilbo could still remember the feeling of Throin's lips on his own. Tears pooled in his eyes once more as he recalled the feeling and smells. Thorin had had a bath before the banquet and the clean smell of the dwarf had filled Bilbo's nostrils. He remembered being surprised by Thorin's gentleness as they had progressed from kissing to heavy petting and even further from there.

He remembered lying in the arms of the dwarf when they were both spent and asking, "Why me? Why would you have chosen me?" He remembered the content smile that had been on Throin's face as he had replied.

"Why not?" Thorin had asked, his voice deeper than normal due to emotion. The same emotion that burned in his eyes. "Why should I have chosen another? You have proven your love for me time and again. You are loyal, brave and true. What more could I desire?"

Recalling the words still made Bilbo smile. He would never have guessed that Thorin had a sentimental side. But despite his pleasure at knowing that the dwarven king wanted him he knew that there were questions he had to ask.

"What about heirs?" Bilbo had asked. "Kings need heirs and I cannot provide them for you."

"I have no interest in heirs," Thorin had replied with a wave of his hand. "Fili and Kili also share the blood of Durin, I have no need to produce my own."

"But—" Bilbo had begun only to be cut off by Thorin's calloused finger being placed gently against his lips.

"Are you not happy?" Thorin asked suddenly, his eyes showing that it was more than an idle question. When Bilbo had nodded, he continued speaking. "Then ask not these questions of me. Enjoy our time together and worry not for the future."

That had been the first and last time that they had slept together. While it was true that they still provided one another with companionship, it was hard to find privacy among twelve other dwarves and Bilbo was a private hobbit. There were times that Bilbo almost wished that it had never happened but he always decided that he was glad that it had since it gave him a memory to cling to on the nights when his loneliness was too much to bear. And even though he never told anyone, that was the best birthday present he had ever received.

It wasn't long after his birthday that things changed again. They had finally gained entry to the mountain through his clever trickery of Smaug and Bard's arrow—though they didn't know that at the time. Once they entered the mountain, Thorin became a different dwarf . . . or maybe he only showed a different facet of his personality. He became consumed by treasure. And one treasure in particular; the very name of which still caused Bilbo to feel a twinge of guilt at how things had happened. If there was one thing that he could do over it would be the way he handled the business with the Arkenstone. That was his one true regret.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up. This chapter contains MAJOR spoilers if you haven't read the book. It's been alluded to a couple of times, but here it gets spelled out for you. If you don't already know and don't want to know, turn back now.

It was at this point that Bilbo  _truly_  wished that he could stop remembering. So far the memories had been bittersweet but this was the point where they actually began to become painful. But, like water from a pond when the dam has burst, the memories refused to stop until they had reached the end.

The next to come was the one that had started this traipse down memory lane in the first place: Thorin gifting him with his mithril coat. He could still remember the way Thorin had held it out to him, almost hesitantly as though afraid Bilbo would refuse it. The way Thorin had gently helped him to remove his jacket before guiding the mail over Bilbo's head and fastening the belt with his skilled hands. But more than any of that, Bilbo could still remember the lust and love that had burned in Thorin's eyes as he had looked at the hobbit, dressed in glittering metal and surrounded by gold. That had been the last time Thorin had looked on him with lust. Not long after had come the affair with the Arkenstone.

The Arkenstone. If there was one thing in his life that he could do over, it would be what had happened with the Arkenstone. If he had had any idea what it meant to Thorin, he never would have given it to the Elf King even if he thought that he could singlehandedly end the war with the act. He had known that Thorin desired it, yes. But had he realized what it being in the possession of the elves would do to Thorin he never would have given it to the elves, even to save all their lives.

He could never stop himself from wondering what would have happened if he had not done so. Would things have turned out differently in the end? Would him still being at Thorin's side have stopped the inevitable end when a legion of dwarves from the Iron Hills could not? He doubted it, but he knew that if he had not done it, his next memory would not have happened.

He felt tears begin to sting his eyes and flow down his cheeks at the thought. He still remembered the hatred and betrayal in Thorin's eyes as he had looked at Bilbo after he learned what he had done. He had felt his heart shatter as he realized that he had just done irreparable damage to their relationship through one stupid act. Even though he knew that it was that betrayal that fueled Thorin's anger, and caused him to attempt to throw Bilbo from the mountain—which he would have done had Gandalf not interfered—Bilbo could have sworn that he saw tears glistening in the King Under the Mountain's eyes as Bilbo took his place on the side of the Elves and Men.

Even if not giving the Arkenstone to the elves would not have saved Thorin's life, he wished he would have tried to find another way to prevent the war. Even if he had lost his own life in the process.  _Anything_ would have been better than seeing the hurt and betrayal in Thorin's eyes and feeling the strong arms that had held him so tenderly so many times lift him in preparation to throw him to his death. At the time, he had hated Gandalf for interfering. He had felt that it would have been better to die than to have to live with knowing that he had broken the trust of the dwarf he loved. Sometimes he  _still_ hated Gandalf for it. If only he had died, he would not have had to see what happened next.

His memories of the time leading up to the Battle of the Five Armies were vague at best, as were his memories of his  _brief_  stint in the Battle itself. His clearest memory of that time was being led to Thorin's tent and seeing the King lying broken on a pile of blankets.

He felt his tears begin to fall freely as he remembered how fragile Thorin had looked under all those bandages. The majesty and pride that he had always worn had fallen away and all that was left was Thorin as he was. Not the King Under the Mountain or the wielder of the Oakenshield. Just Thorin.

As the light had fallen on his bruised and lacerated face, he had flinched and opened his eyes. As his pain-filled blue orbs had locked on Bilbo his expression morphed from one of agony to one of regret.

"They told me you were dead, Halfling," Thorin had said slowly, each word causing him obvious pain.

"They were mistaken," Bilbo had replied tears in his voice that were not yet in his eyes. "They told me you are dying. Were they mistaken on that count as well?" He had known even then that it was a weak hope, but it was one that he had clung to nonetheless. Thorin had said nothing, but the look in his eyes said it all. They had not lied.

"I'm so sorry," Bilbo had said tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "I've made a mess of it all. You were right about me at the beginning. I never should have come."

"No," Thorin's had replied, more than just physical pain coloring his tone. "It is I who has erred. Come, if you will. Sit with me. Until the end."

Bilbo had been unable to refuse. Despite what Thorin had tried to do to him in a blind rage, he had still loved him. In fact, he still loved him. He had walked across the tent and sat himself beside Thorin. He had sat beside the King and stroked his hair and told him stories and sang songs in an attempt to ease his passing. Numerous dwarves had filed through the tent to pay their last respects to Thorin Oakenshield, the King who had reclaimed Erebor, but Bilbo never moved from his place, nor did he cease his stroking of Thorin's black and grey mane.

Even once Thorin slipped into the sleep from which he would never awaken, Bilbo did not move. He sat with him throughout the night and was there in the grey hours of dawn when Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, breathed his last breath. It was only then that he allowed himself to be lead away and have his own wound tended. It was then that he had learned that Thorin had not been the Company's only casualty but that Fili and Kili had joined their Uncle in death.

He could not now remember their funerals, though he supposed that they had been grand—as far as these things go. He did remember Balin telling him that if he needed proof that Thorin had loved him he need look no farther than to the coat he still wore for it had a value greater than not only his hobbit hole but the whole Shire and, perhaps, Bree as well.

He supposed that a dwarf may have been comforted by the worth of the present, but Bilbo found that thought no more comforting then than he did now. He would rather have had Thorin beside him than some expensive token of his affection. Logically he knew that even had Thorin survived the Battle they would still have had obstacles to their being together. He also knew that he still would be alone at the current time. During the quest to reclaim Lonely Mountain Thorin had been 195 years old. The average dwarf—which something in Bilbo rebelled against comparing Thorin to—lived to be 250 years old. That would have placed his death near Bilbo's 111th birthday.

Bilbo didn't know if it would have been more difficult for him to see the proud dwarf defeated by old age than it had been to see him defeated by orcs, but he didn't think that was possible for Thorin's death by old age to be more painful to witness than his actual death had been. But, as Bilbo had told Gandalf at his last birthday in the Shire, he was old now. All this remembering and the tears it had brought had tired him out.

As he laid himself on his bead and drifted to sleep he could almost imagine that he could feel Thorin's arms holding him again. As he slept, he dreamt of how things might have gone differently on his quest to help homeless dwarves reclaim their homes. That is the nice thing about dreams. In his dreams, Bilbo could have the happy ending that he never had in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we are. The end of this story. If you are feeling totally depressed by this, feel free to check out the companion piece Dreams: To Stay By His Side. Even though both of these can stand alone, the second was inspired by this one and might help combat the depression since there will be more fluff (and no deaths . . . hopefully). I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for taking the time to read this story.
> 
> And if you're in a mood for smut, the scene from chapter 3 has been posted under the title, Memories of Passion: One Night With the King. 
> 
> Stickdonkeys.


End file.
